


We're Off to See the Wizard

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, No plot whatsoever, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex in a van, if this van's a-rockin' don't come a-knockin', jealous Howard is good Howard, mentions of drug use, the Shaman Council are up to no good, yes this was inspired by the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo why do you ask?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: Vince and Howard get dragged along on yet another shaman scheme. This time, the Council leaves them in charge of lookout duty on their brand-new psychedelic shaman van, complete with shag carpeting. You know the saying: when life gives you shag carpeting, you... shag.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	We're Off to See the Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> The mind goes in strange directions during quarantine. Somehow a conversation about Scooby-Doo devolved into a conversation about shagging on shag carpeting, and then, well, this happened. 
> 
> Special thanks to our wonderful beta, [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid) for all their help! 
> 
> Enjoy!

If anyone had asked Howard, “What are you doing this Saturday night?” he might have said any number of things: organizing his record collection, engaging in some hot jazz, enjoying a lager and some art noir films. What Howard would  _ not  _ have said was, “Spending it inside the psychedelic van that belongs to our landlord and his degenerate friends on some sort of secret mission.” With its orange shag carpet, floral curtains, all manner of fabric that looked like it had time-jumped straight from Woodstock, the van was as garish on the inside as it was on the out, which was covered in a bad tie-dye paint job and featured “The Crunch Mobile” badly hand-lettered on the side. 

“Now I don’t have time to explain everything to you,” Naboo said, holding out a pair of binoculars and walkie-talkie to Vince and Howard, who were sat in the front seat of the Shaman Van with absolutely no idea about the situation in which they’d gotten themselves involved. He shoved the binoculars to Vince. “You, you’re the lookout.” 

Vince accepted the binoculars hesitantly, still unsure what, precisely, he was supposed to look out for.

Naboo turned to Howard with the walkie-talkie. “And you, Howard, you’re in charge of the communications. Don’t let this budgie bombard us with inanity while we’re out there.” 

Howard accepted the walkie-talkie, though he was just as confused as Vince.

“Great? Any questions?” Naboo asked.

“Yeah, I got one,” piped Vince. “What am I supposed to be looking out for?”

“And what am I supposed to be communicating?” Howard wanted to know.

Naboo was about to open his mouth when he was interrupted by Saboo, holding Tony Harrison in an old-timey doctor’s satchel. “Naboo! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Tony Harrison added, “We’re about to get started, Naboo! Hurry up!” 

Naboo lisped, “All right, all right, I’m just explaining to these two maypoles what their jobs are.” He hopped out of the back of the van and onto the dark street outside. “Remember,” he said to Vince and Howard, “this is very important. Be back soon.” 

“Why do we need to do this anyway?” Vince asked petulantly.

“Look, we’re off to see the wizard, and that’s all you knobheads need to know,” Naboo said, adjusting his turban and following the rest of the Shaman Council outside. He slammed the door, leaving Vince and Howard no less perplexed and alone inside the van.

“Well,” said Howard, trying to sound authoritative. “Guess this is it.” 

“This is  _ what _ , Howard?” whined Vince. “We have no idea what we’re meant to be doing, and what is  _ that _ ?” he asked, pointing at the archaic-looking communication device Howard was holding.

“I… I don’t know,” answered Howard, shaking his head dolefully. “I don’t like this, Vince. There’s some bad juju going on tonight.” 

“You can say that again,” said Vince, peering out the van’s curtained windows. “Still,” he said, getting a cheeky grin on his face, “this van’s well cool. It even has shag carpet!” Vince stroked the orange carpet, but Howard reached out and stopped him. 

“Don’t,” he said. “You’ve no idea where that’s been.” 

“In the van, I reckon,” retorted Vince. 

“You know what I mean,” said Howard with a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t know what they’ve done to it.  _ On _ it.” 

Vince looked disgusted and wiped his hand on his jumpsuit, as though this would actually cleanse his hand from any remaining carpet grossness. 

It was Vince’s turn to sigh. “I’m  _ bored,  _ Howard. And hungry. D’you think they’ve got any snacks?”

“Under no circumstances are you to eat anything from Naboo or his…  _ associates,” _ Howard chided. “You remember what happened last time, with that bag of LSD-infused Haribo from Shamansbury’s.” 

Vince winced. What little he remembered after consuming half a bag of the psychedelic gummies had been full of some very, very bad juju indeed. “Well, I’m bored. And peckish. We should go get something to eat.” 

“No!” cried Howard, grabbing onto Vince’s wrist. “We need to stay here. We’re on lookout.” 

Vince rolled his eyes. “We don’t even know what we’re looking out for!” 

“That makes it all the more dangerous,” said Howard, eyes shifting about seriously. “We must be on our guard.” 

“Howard?”

“What.” 

“They’ve got a lava lamp.” Vince turned it on and watched as the goo inside formed mesmerising shapes. “This van is great,” he declared. “We should get a van, Howard. We could decorate it up and make it just as cool as this one. Cooler, even.” 

“What do you want a van for?” Howard asked. “You don’t even drive!”

“Yeah, but I don’t need to. I got you to drive me around, don’t I?” Vince flashed a flirtatious grin at Howard, who huffed and looked unimpressed. “Besides, vans are well sexy.” 

“Sexy?” asked Howard, somewhat taken aback. He and Vince had been bumming for months, and Howard had thought he’d known Vince’s preferences, but evidently Vince could still surprise him. 

“Yeah, you know,” said Vince, gesturing meaninglessly with his hands. “If the van’s a rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’.” 

“As if you know anything about rocking vans,” scoffed Howard. 

“I do!” Vince insisted. 

“We’ve never done  _ that  _ in a van,” sputtered Howard, turning red. 

Vince looked a sly mix of ashamed and flirtatious. “Never said it were with you, did I?” 

The idea of Vince getting off with someone else still made Howard jealous, and he made a flustered grab for the binoculars. “Give me that.”

Vince put up a little struggle, holding them above his head. “No, Howard, they’re mine! I’m on lookout, you’ve got the walkie-talkie!” 

Howard grabbed for the binoculars, pressing up against Vince and wrapping his long fingers around Vince’s slim wrists. Vince went still, like a rabbit that had been caught by a fox, and Howard prised the binoculars from his grip. The only sound in the van was their breathing as Howard sat up, righted his collar, and pushed aside the curtains in the windows of the van. He shoved the binoculars against his tiny eyeballs and peered out into the dark street. 

There was nothing of note going on on the street. It was one of the quiet, short streets to nowhere you sometimes found tucked into obscure neighborhoods of London, residential and a bit grotty but still proud. Hardly any cars drove down the street, and the only pedestrian was a harmless-looking old man walking a pair of comically small dogs.

“Let me see,” Vince breathed directly into Howard’s ear, leaning into Howard’s personal space to attempt to wrestle the binoculars away from him. Using his height to his advantage, Howard held the binoculars just out of Vince’s reach, and eventually Vince gave up, sighing and flopping dramatically into the passenger’s seat. 

“That old man,” Howard said, pointing to the old man with the tiny dogs, one of which was now crapping onto someone’s petunias. “He’s suspicious.” 

“Is not,” argued Vince, his voice a low whisper. “He’s just an old codger out for a walk. Look at him!” The old man kneeled to pick up his dog’s mess, and they walked on down the street, perfectly normally.

Howard grumbled incoherent nonsense and returned to watching the street, trying desperately to ignore how close Vince was sitting, and how hot Vince’s breath felt against the shell of his ear. He promptly steeled his resolve, and did his best to focus on the street while ignoring an attention-hungry Vince.

Vince tried all his best “getting Howard’s attention” tricks--he jabbed Howard in the ribs, asked him if grass was like hair for dirt, and even insulted Coltrane, but Howard had ignored him each time, stubbornly holding the binoculars to his eyes without even a mumbled  _ don’t touch me _ . He tried to amuse himself for a bit by examining the van’s psychedelic interior, but quickly grew bored when it became obvious that there was only so much to look at inside a van.

Vince shifted his observational skills to Howard, who was still hyper-focused on keeping his lookout. Vince sighed. He was bored--he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be doing or why Howard was taking it so seriously. He almost started counting the daisies on the seat covers he was so bored. Then his mind started to wander. When Vince was bored and his mind wandered, his favorite thing to think about was sex. Specifically sex with Howard. 

Licking his lips and shifting in his seat, Vince turned towards Howard to drink in the sight of Howard’s handsome profile and dexterous, sensual hands. He imagined Howard’s rich, velvety voice, and what he’d like those hands to do to him right now in the backseat of Naboo’s van. 

Howard fidgeted in the driver’s seat next, stirring Vince from his fantasies. Vince leaned in, trying to see what had captured Howard’s attention, but all he could see was the same old man with the same two tiny dogs. “Whatcha lookin’ at, Howard?” he whispered.

Howard didn’t respond. Well, not  _ verbally _ , but Vince saw the way that Howard had shivered when Vince had whispered into his ear. Suddenly, he had an  _ idea _ .

“Howard?” Vince whispered softly, purposefully brushing his lips against the shell of Howard’s ear as he spoke. Howard twitched, but otherwise gave no indication that he’d heard a thing.

Well. Looked like Vince was going to have to stop with the subtle teasing... Vince exhaled softly against the sensitive skin of Howard’s ear. Then he poked the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, and traced it against the outer edge of Howard’s ear, eliciting another shiver from Howard.

Vince’s lips quirked into a self-satisfied grin, just for a moment, before he forced his mouth to relax, then brushed a series of feather-light kisses into the smooth skin behind Howard’s ear.

Howard let out a choked-sounding moan. The hand holding the binoculars to his face was gripping them so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and Vince caressed Howard’s hand softly, until he began to relax his grip. “That’s it,” Vince murmured, and Howard sighed, letting go of the binoculars enough that Vince was able to remove them from Howard's grasp before Howard noticed. Vince promptly tossed the offending binoculars into the backseat of the van, then climbed over the gearshift and slid into Howard’s lap.

Howard let out a soft  _ oof _ as Vince settled on his lap. He was already aroused, judging by the warm, stiff pressure against Vince’s bum. He wriggled, rubbing himself against Howard’s erection, barely able to swallow a groan of his own as he felt Howard’s cock jump against his arse. 

The walkie-talkie crackled to life. “Come in, Jazz Freak, come in!”

Howard, ever the responsible one, yanked the walkie-talkie from his belt and pressed the button. “Jazz Freak reporting.”

Vince rolled his eyes. Leave it to Howard to interrupt a hot makeout to fulfill his duties, regardless of if he had any idea what he was supposed to be doing or not.

The walkie-talkie crackled, and Tony Harrison’s nasal voice pierced through the static. “We’re closing in on the target. Everything clear?”

Howard leaned forward to look over Vince’s shoulders and survey the street. Vince grumbled something against Howard’s throat, then dragged his lips to the sensitive spot behind Howard’s ear, making Howard groan involuntarily.

“What’s that, sunshine?”

Howard shook his head, collecting himself. “Ten four, coast is clear.” Vince nibbled on his earlobe this time, gently yanking it between his teeth, and Howard’s whole body went rigid, especially his cock. Vince noticed, and ground down against Howard’s erection, all the while grinning mischievously. 

“Standby, Jazz Freak,” Tony Harrison bleated, then the connection went dead.

Vince confiscated the walkie just as he had the binoculars a few minutes earlier, tossing it unceremoniously into the back of the van.

“Vince!” Howard exclaimed. “What if they call us back?”

“Better make it quick, then,” Vince smirked, and put his mouth on Howard’s. 

Howard tried to resist--his pride demanded that he fulfill his assigned task no matter the circumstances, but then Vince opened the fly of his drainpipes and wriggled on Howard’s lap, and finally, Howard could take no more. He pulled Vince into a deep, ravenous kiss. 

All thoughts of lookout and duty and responsibility were tossed aside in favor of raw and desperate need. He grabbed Vince roughly, pulling his hair and hoping, maybe a little sadistically, that it hurt, as punishment for interrupting the important job of Lookout  _ and  _ for the jibe he’d made earlier about getting off with someone else in a van. 

Vince groaned sweetly, and Howard yanked again. Vince’s hand pulled clumsily at his tight, bright pants, and Howard whispered cruelly, “You like that, you little tart?”

He pushed Vince back against the steering wheel, scrabbling desperately at his belt and fly. As soon as he’d freed his cock, he released Vince’s hair to grab him by the thighs, rubbing his erection against Vince’s.

Vince’s cock was already wet, the absolute  _ tart, _ and Howard growled, wrapping a hand around Vince’s shaft. His pink prick perked up in Howard’s grip, his fat cockhead swelling. The plump, pouting head was Howard’s favorite part of Vince’s prick, and he swiped his thumb across the sensitive head, his lips quirking when Vince groaned and thrust his cock into Howard’s hand.

Howard scooted forward, angling himself so his cock lined up with Vince’s. A drop of precum dribbled from Vince’s cockhead onto Howard’s own, and Vince wriggled a hand between them to close around Howard’s prick. He squeezed teasingly, and in retaliation, Howard skimmed his free hand from the nape of Vince’s neck to tangle in his hair, pulling gently.

The sting made Vince’s body buzz with need. He moaned and interlaced his fingers with Howard’s, creating a wide, warm tunnel for them to thrust into, stroking both their cocks at the same time. He leaned his head forward, nipping gently at Howard’s throat. He felt Howard’s long fingers tug his head back. It hurt, but in  _ such  _ a good way, the pain in his scalp turning to pleasure as it coursed from his head straight to his cock. He whined aloud as Howard bit his exposed throat, right above the collarbone, and felt his penis twitch in his hands. 

Howard growled against his skin, low and rumbling, and Vince was surprised the high, breathy pants filling the van were his own. His balls were starting to tense up, and the stream of precum leaking from the tip of his prick was coming faster now--he knew his orgasm was close, but he tried to hold on...

“Look at you, making such a mess already,” Howard whispered into Vince’s ear, his voice rough with want. His hand sped up, stroking their pricks faster, and it was more than Vince could take. With a shout, he came all over Howard’s lap and belly, leaving white streaks on the brown fabric.

Howard didn’t seem to mind. He kept stroking, his prick hot and hard against Vince’s softening cock. Every drag of the ridged skin against Vince’s sensitive, spent prick made Vince inhale sharply.

He yanked Vince’s head to the side and teased his moustache along Vince’s jawline; the stiff hairs tickled, overwhelming him. Vince tried to free his hand--and his prick--from Howard’s grasp, but Howard just squeezed tighter, his hips bucking up off the seat.

“I’m gonna cum on your prick,” Howard whispered filthy against Vince’s lips, then slid his tongue into Vince’s panting mouth. Only a moment after Vince’s tongue flickered against his, Howard thrust his hips and came, spilling his moans directly into Vince’s mouth, and Vince swallowed them all.

Finally, Howard collapsed against the seat, easing Vince against his heaving chest. The two of them lay like that for a moment, just breathing each other in as their heart rates slowed.

Just as Vince was about to pull Howard in for a kiss, the walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“Come in, Jazz Freak! Come in!”

Lazily, Howard grabbed the walkie-talkie and replied, “What?”

“We are incoming, I repeat, Shaman incoming!” 

“Fuck,” whispered Vince as he scrambled to right himself, tying his jacket around his waist to hide the stains on his trousers. Howard did the same, and they’d barely managed to make themselves presentable when the back door of the van slammed open. 

“What are you two  _ eejits  _ doing?” shouted Naboo as he thrust a sack into the back of the van. Vince and Howard bolted apart, trying to look innocent, and failing miserably. “We’ve only been radioing you for the last fifteen minutes!  _ Move _ !” 

Howard and Vince moved to the back of the van as the rest of the Shaman clambered in. Howard gulped, feeling guilty for having just experienced mind-blowing van sex instead of doing his Shaman-appointed duty in being the lookout. 

“There,” said Saboo pointing out the window. The old man with the dogs was approaching the van, walking straighter and quicker than he’d done when Vince and Howard last saw him. “Floor it, Dennis!” commanded Saboo, as Tony Harrison whined unintelligibly from inside the closed doctor’s satchel. 

Howard and Vince looked out the curtained windows in horror as the two adorably tiny dogs shed their skins and gelatinous, formless beings were seemingly birthed out of the dogs’ mouths. Vince yelped in disgust and Howard choked down bile as the ex-dogs grew mouths and fangs out of their glutinous new forms. Thankfully, Dennis started the van and sped off down the one way street before the not-so-innocent old man and his not-so-adorable-dogs could reach them. 

“We got it,” lisped Naboo, holding aloft the sack. Howard had no desire to know what was inside. 

Finally, Saboo opened the doctor’s satchel and extricated Tony Harrison, placing him on the shag carpet where he expounded greatly upon the topic of what an outrage the entire mission had been. 

“Shut up, you crevice,” spat Saboo. “We got what we needed from the wizard. No help to these two mutton-brained cretins,” he snarled at Vince and Howard. 

Howard and Vince did their best to look guilty, but since they had no idea what had just happened, and were still buzzing in their post-orgasmic haze, it was difficult to look properly shamed.  The Shaman quickly ignored Vince and Howard in favor of arguing amongst themselves. When he was sure they weren’t being watched anymore, Howard turned to Vince, who met his eyes instantly. “Vince, you’re right,” whispered Howard with a mischievous grin, tracing a pattern on Vince’s knee. “We  _ definitely  _ should get a van.”


End file.
